


Richard Hendricks: Disaster Sadist

by Neurofancier



Series: Disaster Sadists and the Injudicious Masochists Who Love Them [2]
Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Guilt, Intrusive Thoughts, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masochism, OCD, Past Abuse, Sadism, Top Drop, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurofancier/pseuds/Neurofancier
Summary: It’d be different if Richard wasn’t like this. If he was a normal person, with normal kinks, it’d be… better. Less fucked up.Or: Richard and Jared finally get together, but there's a problem: Richard can't seem to stop hurting him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to [Part Of The Rules](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385102), but the stories can be read in any order.
> 
> Thank you to the amazing anactoriatalksback for her comments and notes. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

When Richard finally kisses Jared, it’s like seeing something catch fire.

All the years of tension, all the measured touches and hidden smiles, they all burst into flame. They stumble into Jared’s bedroom, bumping against furniture and grasping at each other. Greedy for touch. Richard kicks the door closed, pushes Jared against it and kisses him again. He presses his whole body against him, grabs at his shoulders, his forearms, his wrists, holds Jared’s wrists up at both sides of his head and swallows down Jared’s gratified moan. It’s rushed and hurried and frantic, all patience spent. They rut against each other, no finesse and too many layers of clothes between them, too unwilling to part long enough to undress. It doesn’t matter. This is enough. It’s more than enough. Richard bucks forward and loses himself to this: touch and fabric, friction and sweat. 

It’s not long at all before Richard can feel himself getting closer, tension and heat building between his legs. Jared arches into him, his movements growing desperate, too. Jared pulls away to breathe, and Richard grips him by the hair and tugs him back in. Richard kisses him, claiming, hungry, bites at his lip so hard he tastes blood and copper. Jared makes a noise, raw and unguarded and _pained_ , and that’s it, that’s it, Richard comes, fireworks going off, crashing pleasure, so sudden and quick and unexpected it leaves him disoriented and weak-kneed. 

He does pull back to breathe, then. He’s still twitching with the last aftershocks, gasping. 

“Richard,” Jared whimpers. “Richard, please…”

Jared’s hips are moving faster now, his blue eyes watching him pleadingly. As if he fears he won’t be allowed to come, now that Richard is done. Richard’s spent cock gives a weak twitch at the thought.

Richard cups the bulge between his legs, lets Jared rub against his hand.

“Yes, do it, come on,” Richard says.

Jared does, keens soft and broken, wetness seeping through the fabric of his khakis.

He’s gorgeous, trembling and vulnerable as Richard wraps his arms around him to catch him. Richard pants against the crook of Jared’s throat. He listens to Jared murmur sweet nothings on his skin, “oh, Richard, my Captain, my love, I’m not worthy, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

And as the pleasure and relaxation fade away, Richard thinks, fuck.

He’s fucked.

-

The following morning, Richard oversleeps on purpose to avoid having to face Jared. He wakes up on Jared’s bed to breakfast on a tray on the bedside table and a note from Jared. In it, Jared apologizes for having had to leave before he got up. It’s such a thoughtful gesture, and delivered with so much sincerity, his heart clenches in his chest.

Richard eats without pleasure even though Jared’s cooking is, as always, stellar. He showers, gets dressed, and gets a Lyft.

On his way to the office he rests his forehead against the window pane of the car and wonders what the hell he’s going to do.

Here is the thing about Richard Hendricks: he wouldn’t wish himself on his own worst enemy.

There are those who, when faced with injustice, become better people. They’re inspired to do more, to improve themselves. They become inventors or philanthropists or Olympic athletes. They are the kind of people who will tell you, with the confidence of those who have made it, that the best revenge is living well. 

Richard wishes he were one of those people. He knows he’s not. 

There’s something about him. It could be a consequence of all those years of being bullied. Like vomiting or curling up in empty bathtubs: a terrible coping mechanism for a terrible childhood. Or maybe it precedes that. Maybe it’s always been part of him. Hell, it could even be the reason why he was chosen as a target in the first place. Maybe the bullies could sense it in him. Maybe they had been only doing him a favor, trying to beat it out of him. 

Yeah, good luck with that.

Because here is the thing about him: he’s a douchebag. Big surprise. Everyone knows it. Little Richie Hendricks, he only comes in two flavours: nerdy pushover or complete asshole. He’ll let you walk all over him right until his explosive temper goes off. And when that happens? All bets are off. 

It’s a scorch-the-earth, burn-all-ships-and-bridges rage. A take-no-prisoners wrath. It’s a fury he has never known how to control.

It has turned tentative allyships into bitter rivalries, lukewarm acquaintances into enemies. He has even lost one or two jobs to it, after he was a little too honest to a frustrating client or project manager. It’s probably what he’ll ultimately lose Pied Piper to.

And it’s–it’s fine. Richard has learnt ways to work around that part of him. It’s part of why he acts like a human doormat most of the time. Part of him hopes that it’ll make up for all the times when he’s not. Deep down he knows that it doesn’t, though. No matter how hard he tries to be kinder or to curb those impulses, he’ll always be the same old asshole. He’ll always have that side to him that longs to watch the world crumble in his hands. That side that wants to sink his teeth in and…

And draw blood. 

Richard closes his eyes. He remembers last night. Jared, warm and alive and so very willing. The wild, exhilarating pleasure of finally being able to touch him. The moment when it gave way to cruelty. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. How Jared had gone taut against his body. Jared’s moans. They way he had sounded like… 

Like Richard had hurt him. 

And Richard…

Oh, Richard had loved it. He had loved it so much. At that moment, all he had wanted was to hurt him more. He had wanted to follow that pained whimper and draw it out, see what other noises he could rip out of Jared’s throat. He had wanted it so much. If he hadn’t come right then and there, he doesn’t know what he would have done.

It’s not that Richard hadn’t know that this is what gets him off. Even if it’s mostly from solitary exploration, from porn clips and fantasies he would never admit to having. It’s no more than the natural conclusion of his douchebaggery. The inevitable sexual hang-up tagged to it. For whatever reason, there’s something dark and twisted inside him. Something that looks at Jared and wants to see him cry.

Still, he had hoped that with Jared it’d be different. He had hoped that Jared would… not heal him, no, that’s ridiculous. But he had hoped that he would make it easier to rein in those dark urges. He had hoped that, with him, he’d finally be that elusive best version of himself.

God, what a fucking idiot he had been.

He has to face the facts: he’s a pervert and a sadist and a disgusting human being. No amount of love is going to change that.

-

Richard makes it to the office a little after ten. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he sees Jared. Should he… talk to him? Act natural? Should he confront him immediately? Or should he wait until after work?

As he’s walking into his office, he looks at Jared’s desk through the glass wall. That’s when he sees it. Jared’s bottom lip, bruised purple and swollen. He stops on his tracks, mouth dry. He wants to be sick, but mixed with the guilt and mortification is an undercurrent of arousal.

Jared notices him looking and smiles at him. It makes the bruise stand out more. 

Richard, who was trying to hang his messenger bag over the back of his chair, ends up dropping it to the floor instead. As he kneels down to pick it up and make sure his laptop is okay, he relishes the opportunity to hide his flaming face from the office. 

Fucking glass walls.

Richard is so fucked.

He still has no idea of what to do, so turns to coding, as he usually does when life gets overwhelming: he codes. He sits down, sets up his computer and gets to it. Noise cancelling headphones on, he focuses on working steadily through their backlog. 

It’s nice. Calming. It makes sense. Moving posts-it from the to-do column of their scrum task board to the Testing column is deeply satisfying. It’s enough to make him feel like a productive member of society rather than, you know, a horrible monster who wants to hurt his boyfriend.

If Jared _is_ his boyfriend, that’s it.

He loses track of time, eats the sandwich Holden brings him without pausing his coding, and by the time Jared comes to find him, it’s almost ten in the evening.

“I am heading home in fifteen minutes,” Jared says, hovering by the entrance of his office. “Would you like to come with me?”

They’ve been doing this, driving together to and from work. It had made sense to, with Richard still squatting in Jared’s condo. He has been putting off returning to the Hacker Hostel. It hadn’t seemed that appealing, with Gilfoyle and Dinesh still living in their own apartments and most of the Hostel’s furniture gone. And why go back to the Hostel, when he could stay with Jared and get to see him first thing in the morning?

Now he wishes he had bit the bullet and moved back while he had the chance.

Jared is still waiting for an answer, so he says: “Yeah. Uh. Yeah, let me make a commit and I’ll… Yeah.”

Jared nods and leaves him to it, unobtrusive and silent. Richard saves that branch and turns off his laptop before putting it in his messenger bag. He still doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do. At the very least, he should apologize for having maimed Jared’s mouth, he thinks.

Oh, God.

Jared’s mouth.

“Are you ready?” Jared asks, poking his head into his office once again.

Richard jumps, pulled out of a very graphic daydream. “What? Oh. Yes. Yes, I’m ready.” Richard hangs the messenger bag from his shoulder and follows Jared.

They’re the last two people to leave. Even Gilfoyle, who usually gets in around midday and stays late to make up for it, has left. Outside the building it’s dark, the hot, humid weather having mellowed out. Richard sits in the passenger side and rolls down the window, even though he knows it reduces the car’s energy efficiency. He has the feeling he’s going to appreciate a calming breeze if the conversation goes where he’s fearing it will.

But Jared doesn’t bring up what happened last night. After he drives out of the parking lot, he starts chatting about customer acquisition strategies. It’s stuff they’ve gone over a thousand times. It’s the sort of conversation that doesn’t need any real input from Richard, and so he sits there, lets Jared’s voice wash over him.

Before he knows it, they have reached their destination. Jared parks his Volt in his spot and they get out of the car. The ride in the elevator is much like their drive there: Jared tells him about the employer peer review program he has been thinking of implementing. Richard nods and doesn't say much. Then Jared unlocks the door of his condo, they walk in, and the conversation ends.

Jared stands at the entrance, shoulders tense and hands clasped in front of his waist. It’s his standing at attention posture, Richard realises. His ‘model COO’ posture. He’s waiting for Richard’s lead, and Richard…

Shit, Richard still doesn’t know what to do.

To stall for time, he takes off his shoes, puts them and his hoodie in the wardrobe by the entrance. When he closes the door, Jared is still there, with his blue eyes and his…

His bruised bottom lip. 

Which is also looking kind of blue.

Richard only notices that he’s reaching up to touch it when his thumb connects with his lip. “Oh, shit,” Richard murmurs. “I really. I really did a number on you, huh?” Richard laughs nervously. He cringes at himself. “That… That really must hurt.”

Jared leans closer. “I don’t mind,” he whispers.

Richard–

Something short-circuits inside him.

The next thing he knows, he’s tugging at Jared’s clothes, trying to get them off at the same time as he pulls Jared into his bedroom.

“Oh, Richard, Richard,” Jared moans against his mouth, and then hisses in pain as Richard kisses him harder.

Richard groans. He never, ever wants to do anything but this, he thinks.

-

They can’t do this again.

They had sex, Jared’s big hands around both their erections, and then after dinner they had sex a second time, Jared’s thighs circling his waist.

Jared is asleep now, on his side with his head pillowed on his elbow. He had been spooning Richard, but Richard couldn’t bring himself to sleep. So now he’s sitting next to him, watching Jared’s eyes flutter behind his eyelids in the dim light of the bedroom. He looks calm and untroubled. Small, somehow, despite being well over six foot tall.

He’s covered in marks.

There’s the ring of Richard’s fingers around his wrists, from when he pinned them over his head as he fucked him. There’s the criss-cross lattice of scratches on his chest and back, the half-moons of Richard’s bitten nails sinking into him. And then there are the bruises around his throat. A daisy chain of red and purple, because Richard kept biting him there. To taste him. To muffle his own moans. 

To hurt him.

And he had wanted to hurt him. Even now, looking at the marks on that pale skin, a part of him regrets not having left more. He wants to press his thumb against the one on his thigh. Worry with his teeth at the one over a nipple. He wants to watch Jared, see his mouth open the way it always does after a particularly sharp bite. Feel him come alive under him. He wants and wants and wants.

It’s sickening.

His only comfort is this: Jared hadn’t said no. He hadn’t said stop. He hadn’t… He hadn’t frozen, or twisted away, or, or done any of those things people will do when they want to say no but can’t. At least, Richard doesn’t think he had. He had been paying attention to that, even when he had felt most out of control. 

Afterwards, Jared had been grateful. He had waxed poetic about Richard’s passion.

“My very own hurricane,” he had cooed, holding Richard close.

Jared had looked like he had enjoyed it. He had said he had, when Richard had asked him: a call and response refrain of “Is this okay? Can I? Is this okay?” and Jared’s repeated “Yes, yes, yes.”

But then.

But then, this is Jared.

Jared has been hurt so many times. He’s been made to internalize that pain. He’s been forced to accept it as normal. With Jared’s past… would he even know how to say no? Would he know to show discomfort? Or has the reflex to flinch away been beaten out of him?

And more than that... Jared loves Richard so much. Richard might be insecure to a clinical degree, but not even he can deny that Jared idolizes him. So does Jared even have it in him to say no to him?

Richard doesn’t know. But deep inside, he fears that the answer is no.

It’d be different if Richard wasn’t… like this. If he didn’t have these desires. Richard knows himself, knows he’s so neurotic that part of him would always worry that Jared didn’t really want him. But if at least Richard only wanted to be gentle and sweet to him… If he was a normal person, with normal kinks, it’d be… better. Less fucked up.

He lies down on his side, his back to Jared’s chest, and inches close until they’re spooning once again. He takes Jared’s arm and wraps it around his waist. He knows what he should do. Break up with Jared. Maybe he’ll even have the guts to do it tomorrow. But tonight…

Tonight all he wants is to be held.

-

The next day, he doesn’t have the guts to do it.

Unsurprisingly.

He wakes up and Jared is already up, watching him sleep with a smile. They make breakfast–Jared doing most of the work, Richard doing a poor job of helping. They eat omelettes and drink tea, play footsie under the kitchen table. They get dressed, and as Jared puts on a turtleneck sweater to hide the marks on his neck, Richard almost does it.

But he can’t.

Oh, God, he can’t break up with him.

Because then Jared looks at him through his eyelashes like… Fuck, like Richard hasn’t just hung the moon and stars, but also been the one to design the forces that keep them spinning, the very laws that rule their trajectories and cycles. And yes, it’s selfish of him. But Richard can’t bring himself to give that up. Not just yet.

They make it to work on time. Jared sits in his usual spot at the other side of the glass wall of Richard’s office. Richard sneaks glances at him, checking on him. Jared looks happy. Relaxed. Like he has a secret, but one he is delighted of keeping.

At around eleven, when Gilfoyle arrives, he and Dinesh tease him about the turtleneck.

“What’s with that sweater?” Richard hears Gilfoyle ask him through the glass. 

“Yeah! Did you get handsy with a vacuum last night?” Dinesh says.

“Oh, I don’t kiss and tell,” Jared says, looking pleased with himself.

And that’s when Richard gets up, leaves his office and locks himself in a bathroom stall.

He has to break up with him. He has to break up with Jared, because Jared clearly doesn’t know any better. No one should look that… that happy about being attacked piranha-style.

He’ll do it tomorrow.

-

He doesn’t.

Turns out Richard is a selfish asshole.

Again, unsurprisingly.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ladiesloveduranduran for her notes. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

It’s Sunday morning. Not that it matters what day it is, when they both spend most weekends at the office. Today is different, though. This week they’re ahead enough of schedule to allow themselves a day off. It’s the first one they’ve had since they started sleeping together.

They’re in bed, Richard’s head pillowed on Jared’s chest. Richard had woken up to Jared’s undemanding lips on the side of his throat. They had traded sleepy kisses, naked bodies brushing against each other under the sheets, chests and bellies illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the blinds. When Jared had rolled on top of him, Richard had parted his legs easily, let long fingers open him up so slowly and tenderly it had nearly lulled him back to sleep. It had felt like eons had gone by before Jared was pressing into him. It had felt so right, disarmingly perfect. Jared had started moving inside him, deep and steady, letting the pace build naturally. They had held each other, gasping into each other’s mouths, and thrust by thrust the world had turned hazy and liquid and lighting-bright.

It had been so gentle, so sweet. It had been so lazy-slow that Richard’s darker impulses hadn’t had the chance to awaken. He hadn’t had to hold back any horrible urges, because for once those urges had politely stayed away. He wishes, wistfully, it could always be like this.

Now they lay in bed, too content to talk. He can hear Jared’s heart beating under his ear. Jared’s long fingers are carding through his curls. Richard’s stroking one of Jared’s delicate wrists. The skin there is so pale, so thin, that his veins can be seen through it, a blue-green spiderweb he can follow all the way to his forearm. There’s a small round mark there, and inch or so away from the back of his elbow. An old scar. Almost faded, but still present. It’s not the first time Richard has noticed it. Sometimes he’ll brush a thumb over it, just feel the uneven edges of it, 

“What is it?” Richard asks, sleep-rough. Jared tilts his head, questioning. “That mark. What is it?”

“Oh. Cigarette burn,” Jared says, off-hand, and then, “a former girlfriend didn’t take kindly to being ignored.”

Richard takes his hand away as quickly as if he had been the one to have been burnt. He sits up and turns his back on him. He feels as if he had swallowed a jug of ice water, his stomach heavy and cold. Richard thinks of some faceless woman, some faceless monster, doing that to him. He imagines her gripping Jared’s arm. Stubbing her cigarette on it. But what makes bile rise to the back of his throat, what makes him clamp his mouth shut in mute horror…

Is Jared’s expression as he had said that.

“Richard, darling,” Jared says, sitting up behind him. “Is everything okay?”

Jared had been smiling. As he told him about how he had gotten that—that scar, that brand that signalled that someone had wanted to _hurt_ him—Jared had been _smiling_. It had been that lopsided smile of his, corners of his lips turning down even as the rest of his mouth curved up. That smile, that smile, and will Jared smile like that one day, when he tells someone about how Richard used to ravage him? Will he smile and make light of it?

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry,” Jared says, as if he’s the one in the wrong. “I should not have mentioned an old lover, what a social faux pas. I hope you can forgive me…” Jared touches Richard’s arm, and Richard flinches away. “Richard?”

“I can’t do this,” the words spill out without any conscious thought, but once they’re out, they’re the only thing in his mind. He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

He can’t keep hurting Jared.

“What do you mean?” Jared asks. 

Richard can’t see him, but he recognizes the tone. It’s the ‘pretending everything is okay even though you know it’s not’ tone. It’s the ‘smiling through the tears’ tone. He hates himself so much for making him sound like that.

“Richard, please, talk to me,” Jared pleads. “What’s wrong? What did I do? Whatever it is, I can work on it, I can fix it, if you just tell me, I’ll–”

“You did nothing wrong!” Richard interrupts before Jared continue working himself into a frenzy. He turns around, finds Jared looking at him like a wounded dog. “You did nothing wrong,” Richard repeats, quieter, now. “I… don’t you see it? It’s me. I’m the one who fucked up.”

Jared blinks quickly. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t–” Richard grabs Jared’s shoulder, presses his thumb against a bruise under his collarbone. Jared hisses through his teeth and squirms. Richard releases him. “That. _That_ , Jared. Don’t you see? I’ve done that to you. Who the fuck does that to the person he loves?”

“Oh, that?” Jared touches the mark carefully. “Just a couple of bruises–”

“Oh, really? Like the cigarette burn was just a–a cigarette burn?” Richard knows he’s yelling, his voice turning high and squeaky, the way it does when he’s panicking and angry and angry at himself for panicking.

Jared frowns. “That’s… that’s not quite the same thing, though.”

“How so? She hurt you. I hurt you. How is it not exactly the same damn thing, huh?” Richard throws back.

“Because… it…” Jared stumbles over his own words. And then he smiles, a bright, untroubled smile. “Because… you love me! Oh, Richard, you said you love me just now!”

He did, for the first time, but Richard can’t even think about that right now.

“So?” he says. “Are you telling me that she–that the girl didn’t tell you that she loved you, too?” The smile disappears from Jared’s face. “How many people who claimed to love you hurt you, Jared?”

Jared folds his hands over his own lap, shoulders drawn in. “I... it hasn’t been rare,” he says, finally.

“See?” Richard gestures wildly. “See? How am I different from them?”

“You are. I don’t know how to make you understand, but you’re… nothing like the people who hurt me,” Jared insists with that fierce loyalty of his. Richard wonders how many people have used it against him. 

Why did he let himself be one of them?

“But I’m not! I’m just… I’m just...” Richard’s voice breaks. He runs a hand through his own hair. “I’m just another horrible person you’re going to tell horrible stories about one day.”

“Richard, darling, please...” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what got over you, but you must believe me. It’s not like that.”

“It is,” Richard whispers. “It’s exactly like that. You don’t know… Jared, you don’t know the things I think about, when I–I’m, I’m… jacking off to you,” he stammers. “You don’t know how I fantasize about–about–You don’t…”

And this is it, Richard thinks. This is his chance. Only one thing will make Jared see how terrible he is. He can hint at it, but until he actually tells him… he won’t believe it. He won’t understand.

So he’ll tell him. 

Once and for all, he’ll tell him.

“I fantasize about hurting you,” Richard confesses. “I think about hitting you. Choking you. Marking you up. I think about yanking your hair, slapping you around.”

Jared’s eyes widen. “Gosh.”

Richard kneels up, moves closer. “I think about biting you so hard I draw blood, like the first time we f-fucked. I think about tying you up under my desk at the office where everyone can see you, keeping you naked there, choking you on my cock, like you’re some sort of-some sort of slave. Like you’re a _thing_ that I can just _use_.” He grabs Jared’s arms. “I even think about–about doing all that fucked up shit Gavin did to you when you worked for him. Telling you when to eat and what to wear and when to, when to use the bathroom!” Richard feels his cheeks heat up. “I think about doing horrible, fucked up things to you, Jared, and it turns me on!” he hisses. “It gets me so, so fucking hard thinking about you crying or screaming or fucking–fucking begging me.”

Jared wraps his arms around Richard’s neck, brings their forehead together. “ _Richard_ , darling.”

Richard can tell he’s gearing up to say more so he talks faster, words spilling out. “I want to hurt you, I want to hurt you because I’m a fuck up and a disgusting fucking pervert and a _sadist_ monster and you’re the best thing to ever happen to me and I can’t.” He swallows. “I can’t do that to you. I can’t.”

“Richard,” Jared repeats. He looks close to tears. “I want that.”

Richard sputters. “No you fucking don’t!”

“I do!” Jared climbs onto his lap and Richard feels–

Oh.

 _Oh_. 

Jared is hard against Richard’s belly. Jared wasn’t hard five minutes ago. And Jared, Jared is capable of frankly astounding sexual feats, he can do things to belong to porn and art-house cinema, but still, still, he doesn’t think Jared has ever gotten this hard so quick after coming. So that must mean that the thing that got him hard is…

That what turned him on was...

“No,” Richard says. “No, you can’t. That’s. No.”

“I’m so sorry, I should have told you, I knew I should have told you,” Jared says, frantic and apologetic. He holds Richard’s face in his big hands, clear blue eyes searching his. “It was terrible of me to keep this a secret, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t bear the thought of having to _ask_ this of you, and you, you seemed to get it.” Jared smiles, tentative and shaky. “You seemed to have an instinctive grasp of what I wanted and I thought… Richard, I thought you knew!”

“What,” Richard pulls back, takes Jared’s hands off him. He needs space to think without Jared’s skin distracting him. “What are you saying?”

Jared lips wobbles. “This,” he gestures at himself. Or maybe at the marks adorning his skin. Richard doesn’t know. “This is is what I am. This is what I like. The things we do, the way you hurt me…” Richard cringes. “I love it, Richard. I love it! I thought you knew! Didn’t you?”

Richard thinks back of all the times Jared moaned under him as he bit him or gripped him hard enough to bruise, about all the whispered ‘Please’s and ‘Thank you’s. 

He thought… He thought that what Jared wanted was him. That he wanted Richard so much that he was willing to put up with his sadism mascaring as clumsy inexperience, if it meant Jared got to have him. But what if, what if… what if he hadn’t just been putting up with it? What if he had… wanted it?

Had Richard known? Had he known that Jared had been into it?

“I don’t know,” Richard says. “I don’t know if I knew.” He wants to curl into himself in shame. 

Jared looks at him pityingly. “Oh, my poor Captain. I am so very sorry. I should have been clearer… I can’t imagine what you must have gone through…”

“Don’t… Jesus Christ, don’t fucking… Don’t fucking apologize!” he hates how whiny he sounds, even to his own ears. “I was fucking–doing it without knowing you were into it! That’s worse!”

“But you weren’t!” Jared smiles triumphantly. “Oh, darling, don’t you remember?”

“What?” Richard feels like he must have missed part of the conversation.

“Last night, when you were inside me and you gripped my arm too hard?” Jared says. “You released me. I yelped and you released me.”

“I…” He does remember that, sort of. Somewhere in the middle of sex, a yelp and the reflexive instinct to release him. It had happened so quickly. A few seconds later Jared had been pulling him close once again, and the moment had passed without any fanfare. “I guess?”

Jared clutches his hands in his own, glowing with nothing short of religious fervor. “Or that time in the supply closet? When we accidentally turned off the light and I was triggered?”

“You were?” Richard says, alarmed.

“I got a bit lost in my head, and you paused and checked on me. Remember?” Jared asks.

And, yes, okay, Richard has vague memories of that, too. The lights had gone off suddenly. Richard had kept kissing Jared’s neck until he had noticed that Jared had stopped rocking against him. Richard had pulled back and asked him if he was okay. Jared had murmured something about the dark. Richard had found the switch, and once he had flicked it back on Jared had clutched him close once again and they had continued making out.

“I… I guess?” Richard said. “I mean, that’s not… I didn’t notice, Jared. I didn’t know that you had gotten, you know, triggered or whatever. You just, you had stopped moaning and I, I just wanted to make sure you were okay? That’s, like, the bare minimum. You can’t, like, you can’t give me credit for that!”

“But that’s the thing!” Jared says. “Can you think of one time when I stopped responding to your touch and you didn’t pause to figure out what was wrong? Can you think of a single time when you didn’t stop the minute I didn’t seem engaged in what was going on?”

“I… I don’t know?” Richard’s mind is blank. “I am not that perceptive, there must have been a time…”

“There hasn’t,” Jared says with utter conviction. “Every single time I’ve been anything less that a hundred percent enthusiastic about the proceedings, you have stopped. In fact, there have even been times when you’ve stopped when I wanted you to continue, simply because I wasn’t being demonstrative enough!” He adds, beatifically. “That’s how much you care about my enjoyment!”

“Well. Yeah. Because I’m a neurotic mess,” Richard says dumbly. “I just. I just want to be sure you are having fun.” 

Jared smiles like he just won a debate. Or like he’s a here to tell him about the Good News of the Lord Jesus Christ. Richard suspects he’s the Messiah in that scenario and that–no. That kind of unwavering faith in him is precisely what got them into this situation in the first place. Richard can’t allow himself to humor it, as good as it feels.

“No,” Richard tells him. “Don’t… don’t do that. Just because I stopped those times it doesn’t–it doesn’t make it okay. I was still doing things to you that I–things that no-one should do to another person. Just because I showed you some basic fucking decency it doesn’t make me different from, from,” the people who abused him, “the others. The ones that hurt you.”

Jared sighs. “My gentle Captain,” he lowers his eyes and his voice, “do you think after all I’ve experienced I have not… learned to take precautions against that? Do you think I did not watch you and your actions, to make sure that you cared about my well-being?”

“Yes?” Richard croaks. “I mean. No offense, Jared. You’re amazing at a lot of things, but self-preservation… not so much.”

“That is true, I suppose,” Jared admits. “And I will not say that I would have left you, if I hadn’t been certain that you cared about my enthusiastic consent,” Jared says. Like he’s conceding a small point rather than telling him that he would have allowed Richard to abuse him. What the fuck. “But I’ve been watching you. And I can tell you that you’re surprisingly adept at recognizing when a boundary has been crossed. And when that happens, Richard? You stop. You always do.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Richard squints at him. “Are you sure?”

Jared smiles kindly. “Yes, darling.”

Richard wraps his arms around own ribcage, hugging himself. Jared watches him silently, probably sensing he has a lot in his mind and giving him space to untangle his thoughts. 

He’s so good to Richard, he thinks. What the did he do to deserve him?

Certainly not treat him like Jared deserves to be treated.

“If,” Richard starts. He gulps. “If I’m so, I don’t know. So anal about, um, stopping when you’re, I don’t know. Not–enthusiastic or whatever. It’s because I know what’s in here.” He taps his own forehead with two fingers. “I know what could happen, if I let myself go. The things I told you about, Jared… I wasn’t even getting started. The things I fantasize about are really fucked up. I mean,” he grimaces, “really, really fucked up.”

Jared hums. He shifts to sits with his back against the headboard, arms at his sides. It reminds Richard of a conversation he had with Jared years ago. Jared had told him that he had memorized postural cues off a book, taught himself how to look non-threatening and approachable. He had told Richard about how, when he was anxious or lost, he fell back on those rehearsed postures. He had told him that it made him feel some measure of control to be able to project certain image with his body language.

It makes Richard feel unbearably fond of him. He sits next to Jared. Their shoulders brush together.

“You know,” Jared says at length, “sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly stressed out, I imagine I’m being eaten alive.”

It’s like hearing a needle skip off a scratched record.

“What,” Richard says, voice flat.

“Sometimes I imagine it’s hyenas doing it, swarming over my body and eating me bite by bite,” Jared says in that same ‘how about that weather’ tone. “Sometimes the one doing it is Gavin, or some other former lover. Sometimes I simply…” he trails off, “bask on the general concept of it. Being consumed. Disappearing. Ceasing to be.”

“Um,” Richard says, intelligently. Because. What.

What.

And also, did Jared just tell him he used to sleep with Gavin?

“What I’m trying to say,” Jared rests a hand on Richard’s arm, “Is that I have my own fantasies of being hurt or humiliated. Many of them are much more extreme than the ones you mentioned.”

Despite himself, Richard has to shake off the sour though that Jared is calling him and his fucked up kinks _pedestrian_.

“Uhh, how extreme are we talking?” Richard honestly can’t imagine anything worse than the hyenas. Or than Gavin eating Jared alive, for that matter.

“Oh,” Jared laughs lightly, “very extreme indeed.”

Richard waits for him to elaborate on that, but it seems like this is one of those secret things Jared is planning to keep to himself.

Which… fair. Richard doesn’t think he could ever tell him some of the things that go through his head during sex.

“Okay but,” Richard picks at his index finger. “You don’t know how fucked up some of my fantasies can get. Like. It’s not. It’s not pretty.”

“Richard, I just told you I have fantasies about being eaten alive by hyenas.”

“Yeah, but that’s...!” He sighs, frustrated. “That’s different!”

“Why is it?” Jared asks, curious.

“Well, for starters you’re not going to–you’re not going to go out to find someone to eat you!”

Jared laughs. “Not again, that’s for sure!”

“What.”

“My point is,” Jared says, “often what we fantasize about can be quite different from what we’d want to happen in real life. If I can daydream about things I would never want to happen to me, you can daydream about things you would not do to me.”

“But–that–you don’t–” He purses his lips. “You’re not getting it.”

It’s like talking to a brick wall. This is what he feared, he thinks. Jared going into this blind, not knowing what Richard can do. How he can hurt him.

“What is it, dear?” Jared asks, sensing his discomfort. “Talk to me.”

Once again, there’s only one way to make him understand. He has to tell him about the thing he has been shying away from, even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Richard steel himself and says it:

“You’ve seen what I’m capable of.”

“Why, yes!” Jared says happily. “I have been lucky enough to witness Pied Piper as it traveled uncharted lands with you at the helm of–”

“I’m talking about Hoolicon.” 

Jared stops talking. His expression falls. It’s enough to make Richard want to drop the whole thing, change the topic. He forces himself to continue.

“I’m talking. I’m talking about Poopfare,” he says. “I’m talking about when I made Gilfoyle and Dinesh dismantle Anton and drag it to Stanford, I’m talking about firing you, I’m talking…” Richard lets out a shaky breath. “I’m talking about Uncle Jerry’s game.”

Jared closes his mouth. He stares at the opposite wall. He’s not trying to reassure him now, Richard notices.

“I never apologized for that,” Richard presses on.

Jared gives him a one-shoulder shrug. “Well, you did apologize,” he says, quietly, avoiding Richard’s eyes.

“Yes, but not for that. I gave you…” Richard shakes his head. “I gave you a general purpose apology, but I never apologized for that, specifically.”

Jared does look at him, now. His mouth is downturned. His blue eyes are very bright. For a second, Richard fears Jared might start crying. 

It’s nothing like Richard’s fantasies of Jared crying.

“It wasn’t very nice of you,” Jared whispers. 

Richards is very aware that, coming from him, it’s the worst kind of condemnation. 

“It really wasn’t,” Richard agrees, easily. It’s the least he can do. “It was cruel, and selfish. It was… the worst fucking thing I’ve ever done. When I think about rock bottom, that’s what I think about. It’s the thing I regret most out of–well, everything, and I have a lot to regret. And I’m… Jared, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Okay.” Jared nods slowly. “Okay, apology accepted.”

“You still don’t get it,” Richard says. “I don’t want to do it again. I’d rather die than do it again. But I did it. Jared.” He forces himself to meet Jared’s gaze. “I did it. That means that, no matter how disgusted I am at myself for it now, I could do it again. And I just.” He draws his knees close to his body. “Forget about the… the weird sex thing. If I can’t trust myself to be a good person outside the bedroom, how can I trust myself to not be a dick inside it? With the weird, creepy things I want? How can I trust myself not to hurt you for real?”

Jared makes a non-committal noise. He raises his head, looks at the ceiling. For the first time since this conversation started, he feels like Jared is listening to his concerns–truly listening to them, instead of stonewalling him with his unwavering optimism and faith in him.

He’s… glad.

Even if he might lose Jared over this, he’s glad.

Jared is silent for a very long time, seeming to consider the situation. Richard counts his breaths, tries exhale in time with him to keep a panic attack at bay. Sixty-two breaths later, Jared finally talks.

“I don’t think there’s an easy answer to any of this.” Jared turns his head to look at him. “I feel it’s relevant to mention,” Jared adds, slowly, like he’s carefully choosing his words, “that while I acknowledge that this is very distressing for you, I am not overly concerned about you hurting me. You would hardly be the first, so I am certain I could withstand it.”

Richard feels a sudden rush of anger. Not at Jared, but at all the people who made him believe it was okay to hurt him.

He swallows that anger down, because he knows he was one of them.

“You shouldn’t have to withstand it. I want you to be happy–and don’t tell me you’re happy,” Richard adds as Jared starts opening his mouth, probably to tell him just that. “I am sure you are, somehow. You are this… this amazingly resilient guy, so yeah, I can believe you’re happy despite everything. But. You deserve to be treated right. You deserve… you deserve someone who is as good to you as you are to me.” 

Jared rubs his own neck, looking uncomfortable. “Richard, I’m not… I’m not as good to myself as I am to you.”

“Well, you should be!” Richard raises his voice, and then immediately lowers it. “You should be. And I should be, too. I should make you tea, and, and be mindful of your needs, and fucking—listen to you more. I should be a better partner. And… I’m not sure I have that in me. But I want to try.” He takes Jared’s hand in his. “I really want to try…” He frowns. “Did I just talk myself into not breaking up with you?”

Jared looks a little panicked. “Were you going to break up with me?”

“I think I was going to explain to you why _you_ should break up with _me_ ,” Richard mumbles.

“Well, I am not doing that. And… even if I might have to improve my self-care routine, and even if you can be… occasionally less than kind,” he reluctantly admits, “I don’t see why we can’t work on that. After all, you are a genius engineer. Solving problems is what you’re good at.”

Richard tilts his head. “That’s. That’s actually quite clever. I hadn’t thought of considering this as if it were a… coding problem.”

“If you did, what solution would you suggest?” Jared prompts him.

“Mmh.” He twists his mouth. “I guess if… If we defined the variables that affect the situation and isolated all the parameters… We could build a model that minimizes the chances of me being a complete asshole.”

“Oh, we could draw a contract! How delightful!” Jared says with that supernatural cheerfulness he reserves for incomprehensible legalese.

“I was thinking more of a subroutine, but sure, I suppose a contract could also work.” Jared beams at him. “Shit. We are… we are really doing this, aren’t we? We’re staying together.”

“I’m afraid so,” Jared says solemnly. “No way around it, really.”

“Are you teasing me?” Richards asks suspiciously.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jared looks a bit too innocent for that to be sincere.

“Hey!” Richard grabs a pillow and swats him with it. “You–you cheeky brat!”

Jared giggles. It soothes something deep inside Richard’s chest to hear it. Richard kneels up, rests his hands on the headboard at both sides of Jared’s head. He studies Jared’s face for any signs of doubt and hesitation. When he finds none, Richard kisses him. It’s playful, light, but he does allow himself to bite down on Jared’s bottom lip. Jared lets out an appreciative moan. For the first time, Richard allows himself to fully savour his pain.

It feels… incredible.

“Hey,” Richard says, pulling back. “The first thing in that subroutine, or contract, or… or whatever. The first rule is going to be that you have to talk to me. Okay? You have to tell me when I’m being an asshole, or when you’re not getting what you need, or when you want something. You have to… you have to take care of yourself, because I’m not any good at it, and I’m going to try, but I don’t think I’ll manage it if you don’t tell me how.”

“That… will not be easy,” Jared says. “But for you…” Jared touches their foreheads together. “For you I’ll try, Richard.”

Richard smiles at him. He’s still smiling when he kisses him again. Jared’s lips open under his. Their bodies shift together, Jared’s arms around Richard’s neck, Richard’s hands on Jared’s waist. As they map out their new rules on each other’s skin, another day starts in Palo Alto.


End file.
